Always Right
by xXBecause-X's-Make-It-EmoXx
Summary: For anyone who's ever watched House, you know he's right, and always is, but do the true fans know just how far he will go to prove it? Suggestive and short, a banter between House and Wilson.


Gregory House was always right, and even when he wasn't right, he was right. He was never one to admit defeat, especially to his subordinates, but for once, just on this occasion, he regrettably admitted that maybe by some major fluke caused by the dramatic shift and changing of the cosmos, his assumptions were incorrect. It didn't help that Foreman's unsolvable riddle lacked visuals.

"So she doesn't have tuberculosis." He said to the urinal in front of him, refusing to look at the prideful doctor to the left of him. "Big deal."

"Yes, it _is_ a big deal, House." Foreman said, harshly. "This may have only been a riddle, but in a real case, there's a very big difference in tuberculosis caused by an infection in the bronchioles, and pneumonia caused by low blood pressure."

"And there's also a very big difference between taking the piss and taking _a _piss, both of which I have accomplished in a five minute time span." He said, with a mock grin aimed at Foreman before finishing and washing his hands. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a point to make." And he walked out of the bathroom, leaving the poignant feeling of arrogance drifting in the air.

-----

"Roselyn Planter" House read off a sheet as he strolled into the surprised patient's room, "Age fifteen, Caucasian, brunette, brown eyes" he continued reading down the paper before being stopped by the patient.

"Is there a purpose to this?" the patient asked. "I already know all that."

"Ah, but you don't." House said, his eyes locked onto the young girl's. "This diagnostic," he said, waving the paper, "is for a girl that not only isn't you, but isn't even admitted here anymore." He walked over to the girl's bed and dropped the sheets onto the empty food tray in front of her. "Look at the date."

"It's…1994. I don't see the problem, doctor."

"And that's the problem. Why you can't see what's wrong is what's wrong." House said enigmatically before leaving the room. The girl looked over the papers, struggling to comprehend what House had said before they were snatched from her hands. "Sorry" House said. "I seem to have forgotten myself." He turned back around and left the room again.

-----

"Alright, my little guppies!" House exclaimed, limping into the room that his subordinates often met in to discuss the current patient. "Vertebral sclerosis, lymphoma in the spinal column, bloody urine…" House wrote everything he said on the dry erase board in front of him. "And to top it all off…a severe case of amnesia." He turned to face his team after writing the last symptom. "Any ideas?"

The next couple minutes were spent with House's team giving ideas and proper diagnostics, several of which highly likely, and House providing a negative answer to each one. House was beginning to grow bored of all the answers he was getting and was about to say so when suddenly a thought came to him. His mouth gaped open slightly as he thought over the situation, then quickly stood up. "…hold on." He said, and quickly limped out of the office. His subordinates watched him leave, annoyed.

House made his way into the waiting room, where he found the patient's parents. A brief conversation ensued, and afterward, he returned to the patient's room. He sat on the edge of the bed, and she stared at him.

"Yes, docto--?"

"Your name is Sarah Cline." House cut her off. "You are twelve years old. You've been in this hospital for the past six hours for what turned out to be a severe case of amnesia. There should be a bump on the back of your skull." He stopped, letting Sarah feel the lump she hadn't realized was there. Also…" House said, "You recently had your first period." He stood up and smiled at Sarah insincerely. "Welcome to womanhood. You'll be stuck with that for the next forty or fifty years of your life."

"And my memory?" Sarah asked when she recovered from House's blatant statements.

"That should come back in a few days. We'll keep you here until signs of progress emerge, then you'll be on your way again." Here he smirked. "And maybe next time, you'll listen to when your parents tell you not to run in the house." He turned and left, leaving Sarah ecstatic that she was alright.

-----

House returned to the boardroom, and walked across the room without saying anything simply because he knew that his team hated it. When he reached the dry erase board, he spoke. "You're free to go for today." He said nonchalantly as he wiped the board clean.

"What?" Thirteen asked, shocked.

"Why? Our diagnostic hasn't been decided on." Foreman said.

"Is the patient cured? We didn't even do anything…" Kutner trailed off.

"Why would you tell us to go home when we haven't even cured the patient yet?" Taub asked, expecting the retort that was to follow.

"Because you're done." House replied, staring at the ceiling. "Geez, I give you guys a break and you freak out about it." He said, waving his hands in the air. He turned to face the team. "Remember, don't bite the hand that feeds." He said, serious. "Now, go on. I'm sure there's plenty of things on your personal agendas." He waved them out without looking at Thirteen's furious face and the puzzled looks exchanged by Foreman and Taub.

When the team left the room, House made his way to his office, the slightest grin on his face. He sat in his swivel chair, setting his cane on the side of the wood paneling of the desk. After a few seconds, he pushed a button on the receiver of his telephone. "I need to speak with Wilson." He said, picking up the miniature basketball on his desk as he did so.

"House? Shouldn't you be with your patient?" Cameron's voice answered.

"Finished that." House replied quickly, dribbling the ball. "Now if I—"

"But, it's only five in the afternoon!" Cameron interjected. "Surely you have other tasks…?"

"Nope. Took the rest of the day off. So, coul—"

"Took the rest of the day off?! What about your team?"

"I sent them home. I don't need them." He answered, tossing the ball into an imaginary hoop and catching it as it bounced back. Now, if I can get—"

"Sent them home?! There could be people dying right now and you just took the day off, without telling anyone, sent your team packing, and—"

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" House asked suddenly, his tone completely serious. The other end of the conversation was remarkably silent as House grinned and made another imaginary basket. "Now…I need Wilson?" He asked politely.

-----

Wilson timidly stepped halfway into House's office, and looked around, seeing that House wasn't at his desk. Hearing a noise by the aforementioned desk, he was less than surprised to see House stand up from behind it, papers in tow. He mumbled something to himself, most likely about the documents he held, and seemed to not notice Wilson's presence.

Wilson watched for a few seconds, weighing the option of waiting patiently or questioning House why he was needed. He went with the former, standing in the doorway with one hand on his hip, his other arm resting on the doorframe. He looked about the room again to find something to occupy his attention when House's voice spoke from across the room.

"Are you a little teapot?" he asked, staring at Wilson.

At this, Wilson attempted to speak, whilst at the same, noticing his positioning to be very similar to the nursery rhyme pot's. He quickly dropped both hands to his sides, then entered the room. "You, er…" He cleared his throat. "You wanted to see me?"

"Really?" House asked, feigning surprise. "I don't recall needing any cooking ware." He raised his eyebrows at Wilson, half-mockingly. "I've already had my afternoon tea." And with that, he went back to his papers, filing them away into one of the drawers in his desk.

Wilson felt shocked, if not a bit verbally insulted. "Well, if you only wanted me in here so you can mock me…"

"Oh, come on, Wilson!" House exclaimed, as he finished filing. "It's only a joke. Lighten up."

"Right…" Wilson didn't much care for this complete turn-around of House's nature. It was as if he was… "Okay, who are you and what have you done with the real House?" He asked, completely serious.

"Oh, damn, you caught me." House said, looking up to the ceiling. "And I thought for sure I would have gotten away with it, me being House's twin brother from another planet and all." Here he grinned at Wilson, if only for a second. Wilson caught the cheeriness in House's voice, and of course, the blink-and-you'll-miss-it smile.

"You're different, House." Wilson said, squinting slightly as he often did when he was confused. "You're too…happy."

"What, can't a man be happy when he's in the presence of his dearest friend?" House asked, hurt. "I mean, if you'd rather have me moping about instead of doting my full attention to you…"

"No, no, that's alright." Wilson interceded. "It's just unusual for you to act this way. You're not sick, are you?"

"Just lovesick." House mumbled under his breath as he sat in his chair.

"What?" Wilson thought he heard 'love' in there somewhere.

"Oh, nothing. Just the rantings of an old man." House suddenly noticed that Wilson had only stepped into the room far enough to not be hit by the door when it shut. "Wilson, when I ask you to come in, I expect you to at least go the extra effort of a few steps into the room. I don't bite, you know."

"You could've fooled me." Wilson said smugly, before following House's orders and not only coming all the way into the room, but sitting in one of the chairs in front of House's desk. "And the only reason why I haven't previously alleviated myself to the use of your chair was that you still hadn't told me what you wanted."

"Yes I did." House argued.

"No, you didn't." Wilson said.

"I thought I did."

"Well…you didn't." Wilson watched House pause and think for a second, then nod.

"So I didn't. Very well. Wilson, the reason why I have called you into my office this afternoon is that I've been feeling particularly perky all day. And not wanting to waste that cheerfulness that so _rarely_ comes to me", Wilson half-nodded in agreement, "I spent it all thinking of you, which led me to wanting your presence here with me, for a friendly chat."

"Well, that sounds reasonab—"

"Plus, I thought we may as well oestruate later this evening."

"What?!" Wilson was shocked that House could suggest such a thing, and so calmly, in the middle of the workday of all times.

"Oh, don't be so shocked." House grimaced. "You've been thinking of it as much as I have, and I thought it well enough to ask, since we are alone."

"But, how could you even… Why would you…" Wilson tried to clear his head. "What would make you think that I even have the slightest inclination to like you that way?"

"Well, why else would you be dating Cutthroat Bitch?" House said, putting the emphasis on the 'bitch' in particular.

"Because I _like_ her, maybe? I find her attractive, she has a sense of humor, and a good personality."

"The same could be said of me." House said, ruining the platonic moment.

"But I don't find you attractive."

"It's not looks that count, and besides, I know that you can't keep your eyes off me."

"What, right now? That's just because I'm talking to you, and it's impolite to not look at the person you're talking to."

"I didn't say right now, Wilson." House said, steadily, catching the younger doctor off-guard.

"Well…you don't have a sense of humor, then." Wilson said, getting back on track.

"Oh, I do, too." House scoffed. "It's just that no one laughs at my jokes."

"It's because we don't want you making any more of them."

"Is it because they're all about people's suffering?"

"That could be a reason, yes."

"Well, the same could be said for nearly every other joke in the world. Two out of every three jokes told are about a living creature's pain and suffering, and how the rest of the world finds that to be funny, just because it isn't them that's hurt, but someone else." Wilson couldn't find anything to say to this because he knew it was true. "And what was the last one? I don't have a good personality?"

"Yes. You're a low, hopeless, depressed addict of a doctor who only saves the patients he thinks can't live, anyway."

"And there's where you're wrong. Low, in my case, would mean dejected, inferior, or _dead_. Since I'm still walking, albeit with a cane, I figure that I'm still alive. I'm not inferior to the rest of you because I'm your boss. Anything I say, you have to do, and you have to do it because I'm simply better than you. As for dejected, well, that means the same thing as depressed, doesn't it? And I can tell you, I may be a pessimist and a bit on the morbid side, but I'm anything but depressed. If I was, I wouldn't be here; I'd be low." House paused for effect before continuing. "I'm not an addict. Addicts give in to their desires and do things on a habitual pattern instead of the occasional." Here, House pulled out a half-empty bottle of Vicoden from one of his jacket's inner pockets, and opened it. "I use these pills merely as a medical way to cope with the pain I have suffered for years—", he popped two pills into his mouth and swallowed them before returning them to his jacket pocket, "—which may eventually add up to quite a lot of pills, close to, but not the same as an addict's. As for hopeless, well, you said yourself that I only save the patients that I think won't live anyway. Why bother saving those that no hope could possibly help?" House ended his explanation of himself, fully satisfied with its effects. "Anything else, Wilson?" he asked, purposefully drawl.

"No. I think you covered it." Wilson was completely broken. He thought that House was a cruel, heartless bastard of a man, but thinking back to every time he'd watch House work, every patient he saved, every word he spoke with purpose, Wilson realized just how wrong he was. "House, I…" Wilson began. "I think I love you." He looked at House, surprised at himself and his current feelings.

House grinned and stood up from behind his desk, a small, black tape recorder in one hand. Wilson's face turned from one of surprised happiness to anguish. House pushed one of the buttons on the recorder and spoke into it, never taking his eyes off of Wilson. "March 12, 2008. Wilson finally expresses his true feelings for me, proving once again how easy he is to manipulate. End log." He let go of the button, then put the recorder into one of his many jacket pockets.

"You…you tricked me!" Wilson said, finally finding his voice. "You tricked me into thinking that you, YOU, of all people are the one person that I'm in love with. I mean, how could you think that I would ever admit to such a—"

House pulled the recorder back out and played back the tape, leaving Wilson's angered response hanging in the air as his own words betrayed him. "Because, Wilson." House said, walking out of his office, "I'm always right."


End file.
